Screaming In The Dark
by countmeawake
Summary: Short one-shot - Stiles is put into a coma due to an accident, and Derek is willing him to wake up just so he can hear that idiot's laugh just once more in his life.


**Just a quick one shot I had running round in my mind that I needed to write because I was bored! Hope you like it, rated T for Derek swearing, that's about it really!**

* * *

He sits.

He sits, and he sits, and he sits. That's all he can ever do right now. Just sit. He doesn't want to stand up because he knows that if he does, he'll leave. He'll run away and never come back.

The chair digs into his back and he shifts, his muscles tensing at a poor effort to get comfy, but it doesn't work. Nothing works. "You need some rest," a passing nurse says to him, but he doesn't want to rest. He just sits. The beeping of the monitor is slow and distant in his mind as he sits there and continues to hate himself. If he could slit his own throat a thousand times, he would. But he knows he'd just heal. He knows he'd be right as rain in a matter of minutes.

Which is why he won't leave. He won't leave because this is all his fault. He won't leave because that idiot boy that he is so in love with is lying there comatose a few feet away. He watches Stiles' chest rise and fall, rise and fall, over and over again until he is practically dreary with exhaustion and his eyes begin to blur. His cheeks are tear-stained from the silent crying, although his eyes seem permanently watery.

He just sits.

He sits when nurses check on Stiles, he gets angry when they touch him and frustrated when they talk to him. When the rest of the pack visit, he doesn't speak to them, he just sits. Eight days it's been. Eight days. Erica makes him go and take a shower on the sixth day because "Stiles wouldn't want to wake up to a stench like that", although now his hair is messy and tousled again from putting his head into his hands and sighing. _If only he'd been there a minute later_.

Trust Stiles. Derek almost laughs at the fact that even though this town is full of werewolves and kanimas and murderous grandpas, somewhere in the vicinity Stiles manages to overturn his jeep trying to avoid hitting a stray dog. Trust Stiles. He remembers the call that Stiles made to his cell, telling him he'd been in an accident and that he was fine, he just needed help getting home. It was his fault, because he had refused to go out with Stiles that night. The one night he was too tired to go out, and it was the night Stiles almost dies. _Possibly might die_.

No, he can't think of Stiles like this. Not covered in wires and as pale as a sheet, even more so than normal, making the skin under Stiles' eyes look purple and bruised. He thinks back to that time when they first kissed, no surprise it was Stiles that made the first move. The pack had gathered at Derek's house for the night, eating pizza and watching old movies. Stiles stayed after everyone had left to clean up, and Stiles just went for it. Of course, Derek was surprised at first but he didn't deny it. They'd practically been inseparable since.

Yes, Stiles was irritant at times...okay _most _of the time. Calling Derek a "sour wolf" and referring to him as his very own "guard dog". He just wanted Stiles to wake up. Hell, he'd even legally change his name to "sour wolf" if it meant Stiles could live another day. He looked outside and it was dark. Dark like his mind, his eyes, his soul. His heart if Stiles never woke up.

They'd be entering the ninth day of Stiles' coma soon. His dad, Sheriff Stilinski came to visit today. He's the only one that Derek really speaks to. They talk about how clever but idiotic that boy is. About how when he wakes up he'll laugh and say "just fooled you! I've just been sleeping all along." And Derek will call him a bastard but they'll kiss and everything will be okay again. Derek talks about how when Stiles wakes up he'll take them for a weekend away, jus the two of them, and although Papa Stilinski is a little reluctant at first, he eventually smiles because he knows just how much Derek loves his boy. He can see that Hale would do anything to protect him.

But now Derek is all alone once more, and he can do nothing but just sit and watch his love sleep. He looks so peaceful, and Derek wants to laugh and cry at the same time. He wants to laugh and tell Stiles that the world is too silent without his voice, this is the longest he's ever been quiet. But he wants to cry because _Stiles just needs to wake up_. He wants to hear that idiot boy laugh again. He wants to scream and shout into the night like he did when Stiles had collapsed into his arms. _Want want want_. But his sadness gets the better of him and his dark eyes spill tears, down his cheeks and onto his lap. He doesn't wipe them away because he knows he deserves to feel every second of his emotional turmoil. He deserves to feel this pain and hate deep within him. He looks at Stiles and puts his head into his hands for what seems like the millionth time that day. The monitor beeps not only for Stiles but for Derek too, it keeps him awake and alert and reminds him with each heart shattering beep that Stiles is still alive, his heart is still beating somewhere in that still and sleeping fragile body of his. And it keeps Derek's heart beating too. That beep is all that's keeping him between life and death, between happiness and emotional devastation.

He looks at Stiles a final time and he hitches a sob in his throat. He can't take this any longer. He hasn't seen natural light in days; he hasn't been fed proper food for as long as he can remember. He pulls the chair closer to the bed and takes Stiles bony hand in his. He squeezes it firmly and he rests his head on the joining hands. "Please Stiles," he begs, over and over, "please wake up. Do it for me, for your dad, for Scott and the pack. Please. I just need to see you once more. I need to hear that stupid voice of yours and I need you to tell me you love me because I hate myself. Please Stiles." He rests his head onto the bed and sobs silently, his shoulders moving up and down from the action. He smiles a tired and watery smile into the sheets as he can feel Stiles' hand on his head. He knows it's a dream but he doesn't care. It seems so real all the same. He feels that idiot's hand run slowly through his tousled and dirty hair, pulling slightly and then straightening it back out. His imagination gets the better of him and he envisions that same hand running down his neck and onto his shoulder, shaking him gently as if to rouse Derek from this dream. He decides he's had enough and he inhales and comes back to reality, releasing his fingers from the grasp of his lover's and he starts to sit up.

But Stiles' fingers are no longer limp. They're grasping, and grasping tightly to Derek's own hand, squeezing and pulling gently. Derek stares at them for a second. He stares and he doesn't want to look up because he believes this is all still a dream. He's imagining this, he knows he is. He's imagining those fingers moving because he wants them to move so badly. Yes, that must be it. Derek doesn't even acknowledge the change in the beeping. He doesn't even notice the fact that it's increased. He doesn't want to look up. He stares at the joined hands for a second longer, his own heart beating faster and faster.

"Derek," he hears, and he breaks into a sob. Now his imagination is speaking to him? "Derek I'm awake, look."

But he doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to be bitterly disappointed because he doesn't think he can take much more of this agony in his heart. He doesn't want to look up and see the boy still sleeping silently. He can't look up. He won't let himself.

He feels the fingers slip away from his own as they find his chin and rest themselves there. The fingers are soft and fragile and bony, and he knows the feeling all too well. It's the feeling that sends him to sleep at night. It's the feeling that holds him tight when he has nightmares about his family. It's the feeling that welcomes him to the world in the morning after a night sleeping in each other's arms. The tears start flowing once more as his wants to cut out his own brain and throw it out the window for making him imagine such things, he thinks it's his own body torturing himself, after all this was his fault.

"Derek please look at me," the voice from in front of him croaks. It's cracked and quiet, barely audible as Derek finally gives in and looks up. His eyes avert straight to Stiles' tired but open ones, and he breaks down into a sob once more. He gives in. He cries and cries and Stiles cries with him. Derek moves and he's on the bed now, he's in Stiles' arms. His head is on the boy's chest as he feels the teen's heart increase and move underneath him.

They stay like that for a while, for a day, for a week it feels to Derek, but eventually he has to move. He sits up on the bed and looks at Stiles, the _moving _Stiles, and his eyes water once more.

"Funny how I've just woken up from a coma and I'm the one comforting you," Stiles says and Derek laughs, he _laughs _for Christ's sake. He laughs because he can do nothing else. He laughs because even after eight days of nothing, Stiles wakes up and cracks a joke. He wants to get down on his knees and pray to whoever is up there watching them. He wants to run around this hospital and hug every person in sight. He wants to stand up and lift Stiles into his arms and never let go. All because he laughed. And he laughed because Stiles is awake.

He watches Stiles who's watching him, and they both look at each other for a long time, saying nothing and holding hands. Derek's thumb slowly grazes over Stiles' index finger, back and forth to create comfort not only for Stiles, but for himself. Stiles just lays there and smiles, squeezing Derek's hand once every few minutes to let him know that he's alive and he's here, he's awake at last.

"How long has it been?" Stiles asks finally, coughing as his voice cracks once more.

"Eight days, Stiles," Derek begins, moving closer, "eight days."

Stiles says nothing as Derek watches him take it all in. His eyes widen at the remembrance of the accident, of the night when Derek didn't want to go out. He looks at Derek and it all clicks together, Derek sees that. He sees the puzzle pieces in Stiles' mind fit as one, making a picture of Derek and his pain.

"It's not your fault," Stiles says, and he says it over and over as Derek continues to shake his head and tell him otherwise. "It's not!" Stiles says, almost shouting at the ignorant wolf now.

Derek shuts up and he smiles at his lover. He smiles because even after all of this, Stiles can still put him in his place. The big bad werewolf turned soft.

"I guess you'll just have to come out on every date with me from now on," Stiles says finally and Derek laughs again.

"I guess so." Derek smiles and he's suddenly calm. Relief washes over him as he looks at Stiles. He feels the tranquillity from the top of his head to the tip of his toes as he's happy. He's happy because he can see Stiles is happy. It is only them in this world now. Derek doesn't care for anyone else in this moment, this moment is between him and Stiles. He looks into Stiles' doe eyes once more and gives in. He knows what Stiles wants, and what's him to deny it? Stiles deserves every ounce of happiness in the world and Derek is more than happy to give it to him. But right now he's tired. He needs sleep. He wants to curl up and fall into a deep slumber that his body so craves next to Stiles. Lie there _together_. "Move over so I can get into bed with you," he whispers, smiling that dazzling smile he knows Stiles loves best, shuffling into the bed and pulling the covers up over himself and Stiles, finally hugging the boy he's been longing to touch with his heart and soul and protect for days, "It'll be nice to lie down, that chair has been killing my back."

* * *

**Edit: I've now written this from Stiles' point of view! Go to my page and click "Trapped In The Dark" if you're intrigued! :)**


End file.
